A Single Truth
by Sierra-Jae
Summary: Inspired by the heartbreaking scene of 2.17.


It was an eventful Monday morning to say the least. He spilled coffee beans all over the counter when the bag split open too far; he didn't clean it up before he left. He slipped a tad further than what would be considered laughable, after he left the shower door open too wide and saturated the bathroom tiles; the large puddle still remained. And the most horrible circumstance was definitely the result of slicing an orange for lunch, his unwashed, long fingers now incredibly sticky as his grasp closed around the handle of his professional messenger bag.

Will found Emma in her office on Monday. The morning sun slipped through her blinds, casting light over her gorgeous profile as she gazed despondently out to freedom. He didn't notice; couldn't see the pain in her heart, her mind, her soul. Her eyes were large and frightened, threatened and drained as she turned to face him, a genuine smile gracing her lips with great effort. He didn't ask what was wrong, what was bothering her, because he couldn't see her clearly. Her arms crossed over her fragile chest as she asked him how his morning had played out. Will complained as always, his dramatic gestures accentuating his irritating tales of filthiness and irresponsibility as her head raised and fell in fake wonder and amusement, jealous of his ability to move on with his life as the acknowledgement of messes and disorder only lingered in the lonely corners of his mind.

He gushed about how he thought of her all night after their date, which ended a mere 10 hours before. She smiled and tried to return the sentiment, but the untruth was held captive by her paralysed tongue, as her mind drifted to the pain of her sleepless night. Terror had consumed her in the early hours of the morning. Her eyes had widened and her body shook silently, afraid to breathe, afraid to care. Fear ran through her veins as her bones locked, her mind conjuring images of an intruder in her home that had no purpose to exist. Not a sound, not a light, not an image fabricated this thought, though the single, hypothetical contemplation brought an array of possibilities to her mind. After her careful consideration of the consequences she would endure if her home was ever invaded, Emma began to question her safety at the current point in time, her mind trapping her body as she rested wide-awake until dawn; until her insecurities were abolished by a little ray of light. She understood, in the far recesses of her mind that provided a slither of rationality, that nobody was in her house, she was alone and safe.

Emma was miserable all day. Her heart raced from the moment the last bell rang, frightened of herself and her mind as she prepared herself for a lonely night ahead. Next week, there would be something new to worry about, to fuss over, like spilt milk. Though, now there was a setting sun and her teacher boyfriend had said his goodbyes at lunchtime as he drove off to a doctor's appointment.

"Will?" The peach satin coverlet was drawn up to her chin and she sat against the wooden headboard as the ringtone stoped and his mobile was answered.

He coughed huskily, his voice groggy as he answered, "Yeah? What's wrong?"

Her voice was a whisper as she bit her bottom lip maliciously. "I think there might be somebody in my condo..."

His mind registered the identity of the person on the other line, his heart rate picking up in terror are he stared at his digital clock. 3:00am, the large red numbers blared violently, like a warning. "Jesus, Emma. I'll call the police and I'm on my way."

She murmured softly in deep hesitation, demanding his complete attention. "Wait, Will!"

"It's okay, I'll stay on my cell the whole time, I'll just call the cops on my home phone." He searched the bedroom floor for his jeans, finally locating the jeans next to the tall boy as he reached across to the bedside table to grasp the home phone as his other hand clutched his jeans.

Emma was almost panting into the receiver, attempting to deliver her uneasy thoughts. "No, Will. Don't call the police."

His whisper matched hers, though he was oblivious to the irrelevant change in tone. "Emma, there's someone in your home!"

The first tear pooled at the corner of her eye as her chest became heavy with sadness and embarrassment. "No, there isn't...I just, I don't know, Will."

"What?" He paused, the jeans barely at his knees as he struggled awkwardly.

"I just umm, I think there might be someone here. But there isn't." He listened carefully, his eyebrows rising in complete and utter confusion.

"Emma, I don't understand..." he dropped his jeans, allowing them to pool at his ankles as he waited for her to speak.

"I'm sorry, Will. I just...I'm just exhausted because I thought there was someone in my condo last night and I didn't sleep and now I think there might be someone in the living room, but I know that there isn't and I..."

It registered in his mind as she trailed off, her voice teary and panic stricken as the words escaped from her lips in a cautious whisper. She was obsessing; her hands ran wildly through her messy hair as, in a bedroom across town, Will fell to the edge of his bed in awe of the degree to which OCD had consumed her life.

"I'm so glad you called, Emma." His features were blank and troubled as his chest constricted.

"I don't know what to do, Will." Her cry wasn't of fright, but exhaustion and defeat. Her eyes were red-rimmed as she clutched the cordless phone to her ear, tears slipping down the porcelain skin of her pale cheeks as her eyelids slipped shut.

He listened to her whimper and sob for a few seconds, wanting to reach out to her but knowing she didn't need saving, that she needed help.

"Emma, I didn't go to the doctor's today. I mean, I did. But not for me." She waited, anticipating his confession and how it would affect her. "I went for you."

"What?" she whispered softly. She didn't know which emotion ran clearer- Embarrassment, confusion or an unguarded offence.

"I was unsure about some things that you deal with when it comes to OCD, so I went to get some advice."

Her tired eyes widened, afraid of what he had learnt. "Advice?"

"Not really advice. Insight...to try to understand." Her lids slipped shut, tears rolling down her face in abandon.

Her voice didn't convey her emotions as clearly as she thought it would. She sounded composed, almost relieved. "You're already very understanding, Will." She sighed despairingly. "You shouldn't have done that..."

"I want to go to therapy with you next week." His statement carried over the line awkwardly, causing her to sink between her covers, willing the tension to dissolve from her tired limbs.

"No, Will." She shook her head slowly, a lump forming in her throat as her exhaustion allowed for a dramatic mood to caress her mind.

He was quick to counter her rejection. "Yes."

She sighed deeply, tired and ashamed. "Will, no."

His answer was sweet and controlled, conveying a desire so completely selfless. "I need to do this for myself, Emma."

His hand travelled to his forehead, swatting away his own exhaustion and trailing his calloused fingertips through his curly hair. "Emma, I can't come over right now to be with you..."

"Are you with somebody?" He heard her breathing quicken "Oh, God. Will, I'm so sorry. It's so late and I shouldn't have called..."

"No, I'm alone." She was overwhelmed by relief.

"Oh." Rejection consumed her.

He hesitated before he spoke, silence on the other end of the line. "I just can't fix things for you, Emma. It won't help you. I know you're afraid, but I think we both know that there's no one in your condo."

She was silent.

"I'll wait, Em. I'll stay on the phone while you walk around and check that everything is locked and you're safe. But I just can't come over. It'll only make things worse."

"I've already checked. I've checked six times."

Emma sobbed and Will nodded in the darkness, afraid of everything he didn't know and everything she did.


End file.
